


The Curve of Your Pretty Gown

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: Request from deanwanddamons: Hey hon! Ok, so it’s my birthday today, so maybe a story about Dean surprising me/ the reader by turning up unannounced to wish me/the reader a ‘happy birthday’ and there’s lots of smut ❤️
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	The Curve of Your Pretty Gown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deanwanddamons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwanddamons/gifts).



“Slow down, princess,” Dean chuckles against her neck. 

He showed up at the restaurant an hour after dinner, uninvited and violating the dress code. The way her face lit up when she saw him lurking outside put her birthday cake to shame.

“Don’t wanna,” she replies, stumbling backward into her living room, dragging him with her by the lapels of his utility jacket. “S’my birthday, Dean, just want _you_.”

Dean hums and grips her hips to steady her. She’s wound tight as a bitch in heat, but she’s also more than tipsy and he hasn’t seen her in six months. 

In fact, as far as he remembers, she wasn’t too happy with him the last time he left her apartment; there’s still a dent in her doorjamb at the six-foot mark from the projectile she launched at his head to prove it.

“Want you, too,” he murmurs, clasping his hands with hers to stop their wandering. “You were pretty pissed when I left last time, though.”

She stops for a moment, pondering as she sways on her feet before dragging her gaze up to meet his. 

“I remember,” she replies, sounding sober as a judge before shrugging and pulling her hands from his to push his jacket from his shoulders and to the floor. “Still want you… even if you’re an asshole.”

She pushes up onto her toes to plant a kiss to his lips and shove his work shirt off to join his jacket at their feet.

“M’sorry,” he whispers, lifting his hands from her hips to cup her jaw and press his lips to hers for a slow, deep apology of skin on skin. 

When he pulls free a millimeter or two, he whispers, “Happy Birthday.”

She slides her hands up under his t-shirt and sighs then briefly rests her temple against his chest. “Thanks for remembering.”

Dean stiffens slightly because he _didn’t_ remember. 

He went looking for her to make sure she was safe from the thing he and Sam were hunting; she fit the profile – gender, age, hair color, body type, neighborhood. The receptionist at her office told him that the team had cut out early for a birthday Happy Hour and dinner at Clive’s. 

All he wanted was to get eyes on her, make sure she was with friends. But she caught a glimpse of him before he could get gone. 

“Don’t gimme too much credit…” he mutters before tipping her chin up to press his mouth to hers again. “Sure you want this? I can tuck ya in and sleep out here on the couch.”

“I’m sure, Dean,” she replies against his lips, slinging one arm around his neck and sliding the other around his side to brush her fingers across the slope of his spine and down. “I was mad. I’m not anymore. We’re adults with our own lives. Can we get naked now?”

Dean huffs a laugh and kisses her again, lifting her until she wraps her legs around his hips, and he makes his way down the hall to her bedroom. The door’s open and he doesn’t bother closing it behind them; he focuses on kissing her breathless then dropping her to the mattress before whipping his t-shirt over his head.

“God, I missed you,” she breathes, eyes wide, pupils bleeding into her irises. 

She kicks her shoes to the side and starts to unzip the side of her dress, but he stops her.

“Not just yet,” he says, slowly lowering to his knees at her feet. “Lie back.”

She moans and bites her lip before closing her eyes and falling to her back. She arches her spine upward and fills her lungs with a deep breath. 

She’s missed Dean and all the things she knows so well. She missed his pretty eyelashes and his playful smile, his heat, those dimples, the way he always smells like mint and that car of his, his body and the way he uses it.

He slides his hands up under her dress and grips her hips to pull her ass to the edge of the mattress. As he lowers his mouth to the damp patch of satin between her thighs, he smirks and winks up at her.

Upon contact, she gasps and hisses, and instinctually lifts her feet to rest against his shoulders. She’s well on her way to a god damned mess so she grips the bedspread with a fist and moans about it.

“Good girl,” he breathes against her where she’s wet, making her shiver before going back to mouth over the fabric. 

He trails one hand down to grasp one of hers, never taking his mouth off of her, kissing, licking, blowing puffs of air back and forth until she _is_ a mess and whining.

“Dean…” She writhes, twisting his fingers with hers.

He chuckles again. He loves teasing her and drawing it out. She’s always so wound up and it makes him so hard.

He reaches up to lazily draw her panties over her hips and down her thighs, keeping his lips anywhere he can on her bare skin and his eyes on her face so he can watch her go crazy.

“Don’t need these, do ya?” he asks, pocketing the damp garment.

She shakes her head, looking down the length of her body at him. They’re her favorite, but she can buy another pair. She loves that he wants them.

Then he’s moving in closer, draping her knees over his shoulders, kissing his way to the apex of her legs. His nose and lips brush her folds, and he kisses her there, too. He licks, but not too deep; he licks her outer lips and along the seam, pulls the plump flesh inside his mouth and licks a little deeper.

“Don’t make me beg,” she groans and squeezes his head between her thighs. “Use your fingers and suck me.”

Dean hums and a rumble sounds from his chest. He likes her bossy — likes her telling him what she wants and how — just as much as he likes teasing her.

He doesn’t waste time bringing his fingers into the mix to press and rub her clit. He finally pushes two fingers inside and curls them as he rhythmically sucks and licks, rubbing that front wall two, three, four times and she comes.

“Yes! _Fuck_ , yes,” she shouts. “Jesus…”

She’s trembling and panting as he slowly unhooks her knees from his shoulders and stands up between her sprawled legs. He looks down at her as he unfastens his belt and jeans and shoves them to the floor.

Her dress is hiked up around her waist, legs open, chest heaving, eyes half-closed as she gasps for breath. Everything’s glistening in the moonlight from her bedroom window with her come or his spit or someone’s sweat.

She looks like a dream.

“You look so good,” he says, pushing his boxers off before stretching over her. He plants his fists in her bedspread on either side of her head. “Still okay?”

He tilts his head to kiss her jaw and her throat and she begins to twist under him.

“I’m good. But I want you- _that_ ,” she gestures toward his hard cock. “Inside me.”

“Y’also said somethin’ about gettin’ naked.” He grunts as she shifts and sits up, tugging him to join her on the bed. “Still got your dress on.”

She resituates herself and watches Dean walk on his knees around her. He comes to a stop between her bent legs and grips them, sliding his hands down her thighs to bunch the already wrinkled fabric at her hips.

“Lemme see what I’m missin’,” he murmurs, snagging her gaze. 

She arches a brow and pops her tongue in the side of her cheek in response. 

“Show me what I’m gonna miss, princess.”

He’s going to leave again; they both know it. 

She moves to kneel in front of him, so they’re face to face. He watches her slowly unzip her dress from the pit of her arm to the top of her hip, but only from his periphery because he can’t stop staring into her greedy, needy eyes.

Before she can say a word, he’s gripped the hem of her dress and is pulling it over and off her body. He tosses it aside before dipping in quick and hot to kiss her, cradling her jaw and drawing the tip of his finger along the strap of her bra.

The kiss is long, wet, slow, and breathy – he also loves kissing her. 

He starts working her bra straps over her shoulders, one at a time as he drags his mouth from hers to her throat and collarbone. Finally, he takes an exposed, quickly puckering nipple between his wet lips.

“Your mouth,” she whimpers then buries a hand in his hair. “Why can’t guys who stick around and don’t have secret lives fuck like you do?”

There’s a pang of guilt in Dean’s chest, or maybe shame if there’s a difference. He’s not that guy, though, not for anyone – the guy who sticks around and goes to your brother’s wedding or picks up a gallon of milk on the way home from his job at the office.

He’s the guy who fucks you right, who makes your knees weak, and who leaves before dawn without a second glance.

He doesn’t answer her rhetorical question. Instead, he handily unclasps her bra and removes it for good then pushes a hand up into the back of her hair to move her the way he wants her. He kisses her to the pillows, settling between her open legs and bracing himself on his forearms.

“Inside, Dean,” she snarls as she plants her feet on either side of his long legs and thrust up against him. 

He nips at her neck and slides one hand on top of one of hers, pressing it into the mattress, as he pushes up to reach for her bedside table and the condoms inside it. Once secured, he hands it to her then returns to kissing her neck and breasts.

“I need my other hand to get this on you,” she whispers, her voice twisted with need as Dean gently scrapes his teeth over one of her nipples. 

Dean grunts in disapproval before relenting so she can get him covered, so he can get inside – and just as quickly as she completes her task, he’s sliding over her clit, pushing up and down on his hands, back and forth.

She growls and throws her legs around his waist and pulls. Dean laughs from his gut as he easily maneuvers his hips to get the angle just right before steadily sliding home. 

She sighs with relief and drags her hands from his shoulders down his chest. “Such a fucking tease,” she breathes.

“You know I’ll do you right,” he rumbles as he shifts and starts to move. “You’re just impatient.”

“ _Uhn_ ,” she moans. “Right there, shit, you know _right_ -”

“I know,” he says, dropping his forehead to hers while keeping his back arched _just right_.

She spreads her legs wider and arches ever so slightly until they both groan in unison. Her hands are everywhere on his smooth and scarred skin, squeezing hips and massaging muscles.

He’s railing into her, aloft like a plank over her, and she’s making the sounds he loves her to make.

“Perfect fit… so tight,” she whispers, desperate and beautifully frustrated. “No one feels like you do, the way you slide… in and out, and you just _fit_ all the way…”

“Fuck,” Dean whispers and grits his teeth. “C’mon.”

He’s about to come and he doesn’t want to miss hers.

“Come with me,” he gasps, holding on as long as he can until he feels her body go rigid and sees her mouth open on a silent cry. He feels her clench frantically around him.

Just as she starts to whine and huff air, he shouts and lets himself go.

“Fuck!”

He grips the bedding tight and buries his face in her neck as he slowly slides in and out of her, feeling her relax and ripple around him.

~~~~~~~

The cadence of her breath tells him she’s finally asleep. 

After making her come three times, they took a shower together. She sucked his cock and begged him to come on her before the water was even approaching cold.

He toweled them both off and they collapsed into bed without another word.

Now, he’s ready to go, dressed and standing at her kitchen sink, draining the last beer in her refrigerator and eating leftover Chinese food from the carton. Once he’s done, he sets the bottle aside and drops the empty food container in the sink with the fork before washing his hands and face.

As he ducks out into the early morning air, he draws a deep breath into his chest and makes his way to the Impala and back to Sam at the motel. 

Because they’ve got work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you've read, let me know!


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